


One of these Days

by orphan_account



Series: Tidbits [17]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Addiction, Attempts at humour, Banter, Batfamily Feels, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Coffee, Dealing with an addiction, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Jason Todd is a good brother, Mental Illnesses, Not as angsty as the tags make it sounds, Sass, They’re clumsy about it but they care, Tim Drake has ADHD, adhd fic because there aren’t enough, basically crack, implied referenced child abuse, me giving Tim all my ADHD symptoms and complaining about it for 3k words, mentions of suicidal ideation, the young justice members are amazing friends okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22963642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's one beautiful, fine, day when Tim Drake decides he needs to prove something to himself and quits coffee cold turkey.His family promptly flips. The F. Out.
Relationships: (Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent) implied, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Tidbits [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541653
Comments: 42
Kudos: 604





	One of these Days

**Author's Note:**

> As usual i own nothing  
> first time writing Kon, i hope he's in character  
> i based him mostly on the old young justice run which owns my heart 
> 
> this fic is mostly dumb humour. the tags are there just to be safe. But still, please tell me if i forgot to tag something, as triggering matter is no joke and could come up

In retrospect, Tim realizes that there are a number of things he could have done to prevent this.

Hindsight is, as they say, 20/20.

He could – should – have chosen another day to start his little experiment. That would have helped, but he hadn’t realized just how it would look to someone else. It’s not so much that this day is a non-event for him, no, he’s not that numb to death yet. But it just isn’t the explosion of earth-shattering grief the anniversary represents for Bruce or for Dick.

So, yes, okay. In retrospect, Tim realizes his first Mistake had most definitely been choosing the anniversary of his biological father’s death to stop drinking coffee.

–––––

He hadn’t meant to worry them. The day had been going – not _well_ , exactly, but same as it had gone the year before. And the one before that. And the one before that.

Tim had woken up in his room in the Manor to yellow sunlight and birds chirping. Dawn was barely peeking over Gotham’s skyline, which suited him just fine as it meant that there was a slim chance none of the others were awake yet. He’d showered and dressed in a suit he’d made sure was clean and pressed the night before. Left a note for Alfred, snatched his car keys – using his cycle just hadn’t felt appropriate that day. It had been one of the major point of contention between him and Jack Drake, after all. – and drove first to the florist, then to the cemetery.

He had settled in a routine, over the years. Clean the grave site of unwanted plants, moss, and the like. Place the new flowers. Sit cross-legged in front of the headstone, endangering his clean suit in a way his mother would have absolutely _despised,_ had she been around to see it.

It was a rather nice suit, Tim had to agree. One he mostly worn for sad, terrible, things, though. It wasn’t that great of a loss if it ended up a little wrinkled, or a little muddy.

Then, once he’d done all of that, he usually started talking. About the little things. How the year had gone. What he’d been up to. Never much about their nightlife. He could never be sure whether or not anyone was listening in; and his father had always hated his being Robin. Had always hated talking about it, too, back when they’d tried to reconcile.

It was funny, in a dark and somewhat ironic way, that his conversations with his parents were longer now than they had ever been. More truthful. More heartfelt.

Anyway, Tim talked. About the people he’d met, his friends, his family. He felt the need to reassure them that he was doing well, he supposed. That he was fine. Cared for.

That was when the routine tended to diverge. On the years the weather was decent enough, he stayed, basking in the sun, babbling the hours away or listening to music. On the years it wasn’t, he stood back up, dusted whatever had dirtied his suit and went on about his day.

Sometimes he stayed long enough that Bruce or Dick came looking and brought him back to the Manor. Alfred made coffee, potent, just the way Tim liked it and they watched movies, huddled together on the couch. Nothing Disney, but something they could all laugh about, or pick apart for gross inaccuracies. Bruce tried not to look too concerned and delayed patrol until the latest possible moment, going so far as to stay in all night on the bad, awful, years. Dick tried to keep their minds off things and to force-feed him some more of Alfred’s delicious lasagna if he thought Tim wasn’t eating enough (he always did).

All in all, visiting his parents’ grave wasn’t a bad thing for him. Emotionally charged, certainly. Difficult, sometimes. But never bad. Therapeutic. A moment of peace in the mess that was his life. It could even be qualified of nice, on the really pretty days, when everything was dry and Tim had a lot of happy anecdotes to share.

It was one of those really nice days. He would even go so far as to say that it was one of those really nice months.

Tim leaned forward, gesturing his way to the end of his story.

“-and then, Jay threw the little gremlin _right out_ of the window. Into the pool. You should have seen his face when he resurfaced.” He chuckled to himself. “Of course, it started a month-long feud between the two of them, and it got even worse when Maya and Jon- wait, have I told you about Maya and Jon yet?”

He leaned back, pensive.

“No, I don’t think I have.” He smiled. “Damian’s made a few friends. I never thought I’d say this in relation to him, but it’s pretty cute. It’s good for him.”

Tim shook his head.

“It’s been- It’s been something of a weird year. Good, though. Definitely good. Better than the last one, at least.” He laughed, softly. “I’ve jinxed it, just now, didn’t I? Yeah, definitely jinxed it. I shouldn’t tempt fate like that, with our kind of job.” His smile fell a little. “Though I know you never liked hearing me talk about that. Sorry. Anyway, it’s been something of a weird year.”

His gaze fell upon the flowers he’d brought, neatly arranged in front of his mother’s name, lost in thoughts. Tim was proud of the bouquet, its colors vibrant against the white marble. It really was a pretty sight all those pinks and deep reds. Another of the few good things that came with visiting his parents.

“Do you know, I think he’s starting to see me as his brother?” He closed his eyes, smile regaining some strength. “It’s been- well, let’s just say the night was dark and full of terrors, but I think we’re getting there, in our own way.”

Another shake of his head. Fond, this time.

“He even sounded concerned, the other day. Concerned. About me. Quite the improvement from pushing me off the top of the tyr- statue.”

The sound of a speeding, expensive, car reached Tim’s ears. Bruce’s way of politely announcing his arrival. His way of giving him time to compose himself if he wanted to.

He checked his watch.

Tim only stayed this long on the very good or very bad years, after all.

“He seems to think that I’m some kind of a train-wreck. I mean, he’s not entirely wrong, I’m not delusional enough to think that I’m the picture of a healthy lifestyle.” He laughed again. “But I’m not _that_ bad. Not on the verge of dying on every given day, like he seems to think I am. Apparently, he finds my ‘addiction’ to caffeine ‘deplorable’ and ‘hazardous’. He’s been trying to stop me from drinking coffee, can you believe that?”

In the distance, the motor cut, a car door closed. Then another. So Bruce hadn’t come alone, this year.

“At first I thought he was just messing with me, you know? Trying to annoy me, or to pick a fight, our usual. But I’m starting to think he’s actually concerned, just very bad at showing it. Or maybe the others are influencing him.”

They’d made their opinions of his coffee habit clear over the years. Alfred in particular. But their concern was unnecessary. Tim wasn’t addicted to coffee. He drank more of it than the usual person, yes, that was for certain given their life. That didn’t mean it was an addiction. He could stop if he really wanted to.

Funnily enough, it was thinking that sentence that did it. ‘I can stop whenever I want to.’ Tim had heard it too many times before for it not to ring a thousand alarm bells. He’d seen the way Jason’s expression shuttered every time someone said that.

He frowned. Maybe it was time to put that to test. Prove it to himself and to the others. It could, at the very least, stop them from worrying. Hell, it might even help build bridges between him and Damian.

Gravel crunched behind him, the sound becoming louder with every step they took.

They really were being considerate.

Tim looked back up to his parents’ grave. Time to say goodbye.

“Anyway. I guess I should go. I’ve stayed a while, already. I-” somehow, even after all these years, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say ‘I love you’. It didn’t feel _right_. He hadn’t said it much when his parents were still alive, why start doing it now that they were dead? Not that it wasn’t true, necessarily. It was. Tim had loved them. Still did, no matter how abnormal their relationship might have seemed to someone else. Saying it just felt weird. A bit too foreign. “-miss you.”

His throat closed. His voice became a little rough. Saying goodbye always was the hardest part of this whole tradition.

“See you next anniversary. It’s been good talking to you. I- I hope you’re doing okay, wherever you are.”

A hand settled on his shoulder. He leaned back into it.

“Hey, Tim.” Dick crouched next to him. Kind and careful. His voice was soft. “Don’t mind us. We can stay longer, if you want to.”

Tim raised his eyes up to meet his and mustered a smile. It didn’t feel too forced, but it wasn’t his best or brightest smile.

“It’s fine, thank you. We should go.” He had a lot to think about. Always did, after those bi-annual visits.

Dick smiled back, eyes a little sad, full of empathy.

“Tim.” Bruce said. His voice held a deep, rough, sort of edge to it. All the more reason for them to get out of the cemetery. “Take all the time you need.”

Tim stood up, dusting a few stray leaves – and likely more than a few bugs – from his once-perfect suit.

“I’m fine.” He assured them again, starting to walk away from the burial plot with one last look. “We really should go. I still have to-”

“Nope.” Dick chimed. He’d fallen into step right next to him, Bruce a couple of steps behind. “No way. You know how this works. No work today. Only movies, lasagna, and hugs. Those are the rules, kiddo.”

“But-” He tried to protest. “I need to-”

“Nothing. You need to do nothing. Unless there’s a world-ending type of emergency, you’re taking a day off. B, is there a world-ending emergency I don’t know about?”

“Probably.” Answered Bruce, face blank as you please, playing along to Dick’s theatrical attempts at a distraction. A kinder version of good cop, bad cop, but Tim wouldn’t let himself fall for it.

Dick mock-pouted.

“You’re useless.” He turned back to Tim. “There is no world-ending emergency. So no work. You’re coming. We’re watching old Star-Trek re-runs. And I don’t want to hear any more protests from you, mister. Alfred’s waiting. You don’t want to disappoint Alfred, do you?”

“That’s low, Dick.” Tim sighed, letting them corral him to the car. One of Bruce’s, not his. His has ‘surreptitiously’ disappeared from where he’d parked it. Dick slid in the back-seat next to him, and Bruce behind the wheel without asking any sort of questions about how he’d come to the cemetery. Tim hoped whichever sibling had driven his car back had been careful with it.

“I know.” Dick nodded, ruffling his hair. “I’ll stop using it when it stops working.”

\-------

His second Mistake had been quitting Coffee altogether.

\-------

The thing about coffee was, it helped him concentrate. Helped him sleep, kept his swirling thoughts on a more manageable path.

Quitting coffee not only brought the withdrawals headaches and jitters down on him, but also kept him awake even longer than usual as his brain _would not shut up._

It started manageable enough. A few stray tangents. A little more brain fog than usual. A lost train of thought or two.

That was only the first few hours, though.

By day four of very little sleep, he was fielding enough concerned looks from Bruce that he started seriously considering going back to live in his flat until he got more used to it.

It didn’t help that the overall shitty feeling brought his mood down in a sad and angry nosedive.

On day six, he’d snapped at Damian twenty-three times, at Dick seventeen times, at Bruce forty-nine times and he’d even snapped at _Cass._

All because they’d tried to get him to sleep longer than an hour at a time. Tim also wanted to sleep. Tim could not, for the life of him, manage to sleep and would have appreciated it if people stopped reminding him of that.

On day six, Dick, the dirty traitor that he was, called Kon.

Tim discovered that the hard way, hunched over his computer at five am in one of the second floor studies – trying to keep away from his family, trying to keep away from the damned mosquito buzzing around in his room, making sleep more out of reach than it had ever been – trying desperately to make his brain focus on the damn report in front of it.

It would not.

“Wow, Rob. Way to live up to your vampire reputation.”

Tim did not startle. Startling would imply Tim had not notice Kon’s arrival at all, which would have been seriously embarrassing for his all-knowing vigilante reputation.

So, no, Tim did not startle.

Tim might, however, have sent a small questioning glance in Kon’s direction.

“ Geez, calm down.” Kon said, which was pretty useless, as Tim was totally calm and composed. “I’m just backup. Emergency reinforcements. The cavalry, if you will.”

“The cavalry?”

“That's me.”

“What did they call you for?”

“Okay, first of all, _ouch_. Second, you.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dude.” Kon said, frowning. “If your eyes were any more shot, they’d be drug-dealers in your brother’s territory. You need sleep. Yesterday.”

“Ooh, clever.” Snarked Tim, letting his crabby mood show for once. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“I don’t know, how long have you been bitching at people?”

He deflated a bit at that. Tiredness does not bitchiness excuse, he could almost hear Dick chiding in the back of his head.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

“Seriously, Tim, it’s fine. Though you _can_ immediately make it up to me by accepting that you’re going to lose this fight and go to bed now.”

Forget feeling bad, Tim scowled.

“That’s emotional manipulation.”

“It’s a strategy.”

“A manipulative one.”

“An efficient one.”

“Fine. _Fine_. You win. I’m going.” Tim said, placating, trying to come up with a plan that would let him keep his laptop without Kon’s Kryptonian abilities noticing anything.

“Tim?”

“Yes?”

“Remind me: How long have we known each other, again?”

“Five years.”

“Right. Do you believe that I’m going to fall for that after five years?”

“No?”

“Right again. You’re 2 _/_ 2 tonight, buddy. Well done.”

Tim scowled again.

“Go away.”

“No can do.”

And then, the world was blurring and Tim was thrown unceremoniously over a broad shoulder.

“I hope I puke on you.” He muttered.

Kon chuckled.

“Yeah, let’s not go there. Or I tell the B-man himself you did, and you _do not_ want to deal with the consequences.”

It was true. Tim didn’t. Bruce was worried enough as it was, and a mother hen already. All Tim wanted was a little bit of peace, not for the fussing to get even worse.

He pouted.

“Kon?”

“Yeah, Rob?”

“You suck.”

“Real mature, Oh Esteemed Team strategist.”

Tim stuck his tongue out at the back of Kon’s legs. So what. He was only eighteen. He was dead tired, he was allowed. He was already mature enough during his work hours.

“Kon.”

“What?”

“I was watching Spider-man.” A blatant manipulation. He absolutely wasn’t. But both Kon and Tim loved watching superhero movies. Loved picking them apart for inaccuracies. Also loved trying some stunts out. “Can we at least finish the movie?”

Hopefully, Kon would be asleep before the end of it. Or maybe Tim would fake sleep, fool them all, then sneak out and get to keep his laptop.

“Still not gonna work, buddy. You need sleep. And your laptop is staying in the other room.”

Tim slumped down Kon’s back, letting him hold up all of his dead weight as they – he – walked through the old corridors. The rhythmic, slower than what he knew Kon could manage, movement was soothing, almost enough to put him to sleep, but not quite. Enough to muddle his mind, steal the last of his focus away. It was especially irritating as Tim could usually fall asleep at anytime, anywhere.

“Kon?”

“Yeah?”

“Who betrayed me?”

“No one's betrayed you.”

“It was Dick, wasn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

“ _Kon_.”

“ _What._ ”

“Can I be your guy in the chair?”

“You’re a superhero in your own right, Tim.” Tim could hear the frown in Kon’s voice at that. It made him smile.

“I know. But when something happens and I’m not anymore. They won’t need me for tech work.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy.” Kon said, gently. “But I’d be glad to team-up with you. Whenever you want.”

“Guy in the chaaaaaair.” Sang Tim. Then tension in the shoulders under him eased. They’d reached Tim’s room. The damn mosquito was still there. Tim could hear it in the short silence after Kon’d lowered him on his bed, and had taken the spare mattress next to it, suspiciously prepared, when it hadn’t been…. Must have been three or four hours ago.

Damn Dick.

“Kon. Kon?” He called, once the lights were off and he’d determined he was still not about to sleep.

“Sleep-addled-you is way funnier than drunk-you. I want you to know and feel ashamed of that.”

“Do you think,” Tim asked, hearing the mosquito buzz around the room. “-do you think one of Spider-man’s superpowers is naturally repelling mosquitoes? Maybe they sense he’s their natural predator, and they get scared, and he never gets bitten. Like you. Wait. How comes B knows mosquitoes can’t bite you? Did he test that? Did he douse you with a mosquito appellant and throw you in a bog, then jot down the results? Do you think he tried that because he was annoyed that he was always being bitten and not Clark? Or do you think he tried to weaponize mosquitoes using kryptonite? Can mosquitoes even survive kryptonite-exposure? Does that mean there are radioactive mosquitoes flying around somewhere? What happens if I get bitten by a radioactive mosquito? Does that make Spider-man my arch-nemesis? Can Spider-man _repel_ _me_?”

“Tim. My man.”

“Yes?”

“I mean this in the most loving way possible: What the ever-flipping heck, dude?”

“My brain won’t shut up. It wasn’t so bad before, but it won’t ever shut up now. Not even long enough to sleep. I’m _tired_ , Kon.”

“Are you o-”

“Nooo.” Tim whined. “I’m not. I’m tired. I hate this, and I’m _tired_.”

“Hey. _hey_. It’s going to be okay, Tim. No matter what. We’ll find a solution. Titans together, remember? I’ll fight Batman while you steal the caffeine supply, or something. Or distract your hell-spawn of a brother. Or anything you need. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Tim didn’t really know how to deal with all of that, or with how tight his throat had gotten.

“Thank you.” He said, very, very, quietly.

“Anytime. Seriously. Anytime. What can I do to help?”

“Can we just keep talking?”

“Yeah, sure. What about?”

“I don’t care. Anything.”

“Okay.” Kon kept silent for a couple of seconds. “Okay. Help me devise our plan to fight Batman and return you to your slightly less unhealthy ways.”

“No. That’ll never work. Why would B even believe you want to fight him?”

“I’m half-Luthor. I’m sure I’ll come up with something.”

“You shouldn’t fight B. He likes you.”

“Right.”

“Really! He does.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Don’t uh-uh me.”

“I’m not uh-uh-ing you. I’m uh-uh-ing your outrageous lies.”

“That’s the same thing!”

“Yeah? What are you? A master uh-uh-er? You know all there is to know about uh-uh-ing? Was uh-uh-ing at people part of the Bat-training? No? I didn’t think so. You’re full of it, Drake.”

Tim started laughing.

“This is so dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“Your face is dumb.”

Kon started laughing, too. It felt good, after the last couple of years they'd had.

“You’re right. This _is_ dumb. Feel any better?”

“No. Yes. A little.”

“Feel like falling asleep yet?”

“Not really.”

“Would my killing the mosquito help?”

“ _No_. No killing.”

Kon sighed.

“Would my using TTK to yeet the mosquito out of the room help?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay. There. Done. Mosquito yote.”

“Yeeted.”

“If you say so.”

“Kon?”

“Yes?”

“You’re great, you know that? You’re the best. The very best. I missed you.”

“Aaaw. Love you too, buddy.”

“You’re not allowed to leave again.”

“I promise.”

“Kon.”

“What’s up?”

Tim yawned, seconds away from peaceful oblivion.

“Not me. Thank you.”

He should have been. He should have known that something had to be really wrong, something had to be up if his family was calling in reinforcements. If Bruce was allowing metas in Gotham. But Tim Drake was tired, Tim was coffee-less and Tim was done.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably going to be really dumb. Im sorry. I hope you enjoy, pls tell me what you think!! <3 <3 (and pls take care of yourself <3)


End file.
